


Benedictus

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: Somewhere They Can't Find Me [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Movie Reference, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-20 05:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4775180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Stark started the conversation with, "I'm really sorry to do this."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Nat felt her stomach sink. "What do you need?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"A safe house."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Clint was watching her for her reactions. "Are you going to be bringing trouble here?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"I sure as hell hope not." He paused. "We took a bad hit, Nat. They're all sitting in the back half catatonic and Hill told us not to come home and I. . ." He had to pause to swallow audibly. "I didn't know who else to call."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She bit her lip and looked around the room, their quiet, homey little farm house where the worst problem was a fox stressing out the chickens before Bubbles could get to it. She ended up looking at Clint and raised her brows in question.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He met her eyes, and sighed and nodded.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"We'll make up the guest rooms," she told Stark. "Try not to scare the chickens when you land."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The events of _Age of Ultron_ as seen in this universe. Not long, but it'll pack a punch.

In hindsight, Clint should have known the text was the beginning of something.

It had been a busy afternoon. They were trying out their new olive press for the first time. Nat had insisted on getting an old-school one, which of course took brute force to operate. Clint had a busy day. His phone buzzed uselessly on the counter up in the house. It was still funny to him how much he'd unwound.

He was sore and tired and sweaty when he came back up to the house. Nat got in the shower and he stopped to check his messages and feed the dog, who was doing the desperate Dance of the Starving Canine

Barnes had sent him, _We found the scepter. It's going back to Asgard. Thought you'd want to know._

Though he should go shower himself, he stood there, with Bubbles chomping away merrily behind him, for the entire time Nat was in the bathroom. He was still standing there staring at it when she came out to cook dinner.

She walked past him on her way to the fridge, then stopped and backed up. "Clint?"

"They found Loki's scepter and got it back from Hydra." Stark had told him a couple of months ago that it had been lost during the fall of SHIELD, which hadn't done anything good for Clint's dreams.

She reached out and took his hand, weaving her fingers through his. She didn't say anything, just held on, squeezing his hand lightly. He sighed. "Suppose it really is done now."

"What are they doing with it?" she asked.

"Apparently Thor is taking it back to Asgard." He leaned on the counter. "I'm going to go shower."

He could see her deciding whether or not to pursue it. Apparently, she decided the healing properties of running water were good enough for now, because she nodded. "Comfort food for dinner?"

"Yes, please." He bent down to scratch Bubbles's head, and then went to take his shower.

He tried hard not to think while he was cleaning up. It was easier than expected. It had been a long, physically trying day and it was a relief to stand under the water and let it wash sweat and grit and olive oil off his skin. He took extra time to scrub under his nails with a brush that had appeared in the shower a while back. Natasha was capable of subtlety, on occasion.

When he went back out to the kitchen, still mussing his hair dry with a towel, the house smelled of chicken and spices. Something was simmering on her stove and she was mixing something yellow in a big glass bowl. He crossed the room and kissed the top of her head. "What's on the menu?"

"White chili with the chicken from last night. And this will be cornbread."

He slid his arms around her waist. "Have I told you today how much I love you?"

"No, because you spent it wrangling my old, crotchety olive press. But I know the way to your heart."

"Aggressively midwestern food?"

"I was going to say farm food, but yes." She turned to kiss him properly. "I was considering biscuits and gravy but didn't have all the ingredients."

"This is good news. About the scepter. I'm glad they found it."

"I imagine it'll feel better to have it off world."

"It's evil, and it does evil things."

She nodded, moving away slightly to open the oven and pull out a cast iron skillet using a pair of oven mitts that looked far to big for her. "Thor says they have some sort of trophy room in the basements of Asgard where they keep things like that. I imagine it'll never see the light of day again." She dumped her batter into the skillet and it sizzled, smelling almost immediately like cornbread. 

"It's where they took the tesseract." Stark had called them when they'd gone hunting for it, asking if he and Nat wanted to join. Clint didn't want to be anywhere the damn thing—and besides, they were retired. They were _done_.

Nat put the cornbread pan back in the oven and checked the chili. "Think we should send them some of our inaugural olive oil to celebrate?"

"Pepper loves it when we send things."

"I got Louboutins in return for the last batch of honey and candles." Nat had a little cottage industry with her bees. Her honey sold out at market every week now that the neighbors had retired and her candles had a waiting list. They were thinking of adding new hives this summer to keep up with demand.

Not to mention the fruit and nuts they grew, and even the surplus eggs. They made enough money they could probably live on it if they had to. They were genuinely farmers. "So. . . I'm considering milking the sympathy emanating from you right now and turning it into an opportunity to reopen the conversation about getting a goat. Or would that make me a bad husband?"

"I think that would make you a very typical husband," she said mildly. "I still hate goats milk. And the smell of barnyard. These problems have not gone away. But," she added when he had his mouth open to argue. "If you can find a spot upwind of the house for it to spend its time and I never have to feed it, I will consider the goat."

"Goats milk and honey would make great soaps. And you like goat cheese."

"I will look into soap making. The cheese is all you."

He kissed the top of her head. "Challenge accepted."

"I'm such a good wife," she said, shaking her head in mock dismay. "Let you walk all over me."

"I do enjoy being the man who tamed the Black Widow," he said with a grin, ducking the spatula she swung at him.

Dinner was delicious, as usual. Time and practice had made her an impressive cook, at least as far as Clint was concerned. There was still a failed experiment every now and then. But there were just as many successful new dishes she added to her repertoire. And her old faithfuls, like the chili and cornbread or lasagna, were consistently delicious. 

He helped her clean up after eating, trying not to get too distracted planning his goat pen. She knew what he was thinking, though, he could tell by her little smile and occasional head shakes.

Four days later, he'd roughed out his pen and put some feelers out about locating said goat to purchase. He was hauling Nat's newest shipment from Used Bricks Dot Com, or whatever it was that weight half a ton, when she came outside to look for him. Her expression made his skin prickle in foreboding. "Come see this," she said.

Right on their giant TV were Stark and the Hulk, beating the shit out of each other in the middle of some city. "What the hell?"

She shook her head. "After New York Stark and Bruce were muttering about making something that could handle the Hulk if he couldn't be controlled. This. . . this must be what they were preparing for."

Clint rubbed the back of his neck. "Jesus."

Her hands fidgeted with the television remote, as if she wanted to turn it off but couldn't bring herself to look away. "This is very bad."

"The scepter," he said quietly. "I wonder. . ."

He could see she wanted to argue with him but knew she couldn't. "I'm going to see if I can get a hold of someone. Maybe Maria knows what the hell is going on."

"Yeah. The news isn't going to know anything real." She nodded and disappeared to find her phone. He watched the fight until Stark succeeded in knocking the Hulk out and flew away with him. The talking heads came on after that and he just turned the set off.

He stared blankly at the set until he heard Nat's soft footfalls. "Stark won," he said quietly. Which was, of course, the better of the two outcomes.

She was silent a moment, standing next to him. "Stark experimented with the scepter," she said finally, softly. "Accidentally made some sort of AI with delusions of super villainy. The team went after him trying to stop him from getting ahold of some vibranium and the next thing Maria knew they were on the news."

He blew out a breath. How very Stark. "Okay, but. . . how in hell did that get past Pepper?"

"No idea. Busy with the kids and the company?" Nat's fingers curled her fingers around his hand. "Banner was helping him, maybe she thought he'd keep Stark in line."

"Banner's got a bit of mad scientist going on too. They could also make each other worse."

"Evidence indicates you are correct." She was quiet a moment. "I'm surprised they didn't call. I guess they really meant it when they promised to leave us alone."

"Maybe they thought they could handle it." He looked over at her. "How useful are we to them, really? We're not superheroes."

"We were," she replied, stepping close so he had no choice but to wrap an arm around her. "Just that one time. Now we're farmers."

"I still like this us better."

She smiled brilliantly and tucked herself close to him. "Me too."

*

The tension level had ratcheted up in the house. Nat felt like she was waiting for something, but didn't have any idea what—until Stark called just as they were sitting down for dinner. Clint's shoulders tightened even before she'd answered it.

Stark started the conversation with, "I'm really sorry to do this." 

She felt her stomach sink. "What do you need?"

"A safe house."

Clint was watching her for her reactions. "Are you going to be bringing trouble here?"

"I sure as hell hope not." He paused. "We took a bad hit, Nat. They're all sitting in the back half catatonic and Hill told us not to come home and I. . ." He had to pause to swallow audibly. "I didn't know who else to call."

She bit her lip and looked around the room, their quiet, homey little farm house where the worst problem was a fox stressing out the chickens before Bubbles could get to it. She ended up looking at Clint and raised her brows in question.

He met her eyes, and sighed and nodded.

"We'll make up the guest rooms," she told Stark. "Try not to scare the chickens when you land."

"Thank you, Natasha."

"Fly safe, Tony," she said, hanging up. She sighed and sank back into her chair. "It sounds like they're torn up and thanks to the press with the Hulk they can't go home."

"This is where I'd go if I were them." He heaved himself up out of his chair. "Stark, Barnes, Rogers, Banner, Thor. . . Wilson? I think he's running with them now. Somebody is getting the couch, unless they want to double up." He stopped and turned. "Did he say how bad they were hurt? I should scrub down the island counter if we need to pull bullets."

"He didn't mention casualties, but it's Stark so not a hundred percent he'd think to. He did say they were catatonic so I'm guessing the fighting was more-" She tapped her temple. "Than anything else." She looked around the room again. "Comfort food?"

"Yeah." He scrubbed his face with his hands. "My guess, if it was the scepter. . . Stark and Thor will be in the best shape. One of them gets the couch. Barnes and Banner the worst."

At least they had enough sheets. Slowly, she got to her feet. "I'll do a pass through the guest rooms and make sure the beds are cleared off. Then start figuring out what to feed all of them."

"I have boar in the deep freezer," he offered.

"I don't know how comforting game meat is. Though you'll probably make Thor very happy." She stopped at the stairs and tilted her head. "Baked goods, maybe?"

"People always like baked goods. Could do pies. God knows we have the fruit."

Pies were a good idea. She could more or less assembly line that once the dough was put together. "Pies it is," she said with a nod, then headed upstairs to get the rooms ready. 

The pies were baking, and the boar's meat thawing in the sink, when the quinjet set down on their lawn. Bubbles went a little nuts at the noise and Clint dragged her back to the pantry before joining Nat on the porch to greet the others.

 They looked. . . like hell, actually. Banner was in ill fitting sweats, a shock blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Steve and Barnes had never looked quite so much their ages. Even Thor and Wilson, who she generally considered pretty unflappable, looked wrung out. There was a 7th person, a woman neither of them had met before. She had a wicked scar down her cheek, a bag slung over her shoulder with a red medic patch on it, and a general look of someone who had seen some shit. The only intro Nat got was Stark hooking a thumb over his shoulder as they came in. "That's Doc."

Everyone congregated in the great room, which smelled of baked goods and comfort. Right, time to quarter-master. "We don't have enough beds for everyone, but the couches are comfortable and we have sheets. There's four showers and the water heater is tankless, so you'll all get a turn."

That seemed to get Barnes's attention. "You got all four showers working?"

Clint grinned. "All the toilets, too."

"I'm officially impressed."

"Bruce, why don't you take one of the first showers?" Steve's tone was somewhere between his normal one and his Captain voice. 

Banner nodded and Nat reached out instinctively to touch his arm, curling her hand around it when he didn't flinch back. "Come on, I'll show you where it is. And we'll try to find some better fitting clothes for all of you." She glanced at Doc who had at least six inches on her and two less cup sizes.

"Doc can use some of the stuff I left here," Barnes said in a remarkable neutral tone.

Clint looked from one to the other. "Well, they're still in your room."

"I'll show you," he told Doc and they disappeared up the stairs while Nat took Banner to the back bathroom.

"Towel's right there. Do you need anything else?"

His sigh was heavier than anything she'd ever heard. "No."

"Do you want to talk?" she asked quietly.

He looked at her. "Do you think there's anywhere in the world I can go where I'm not a danger to people?"

She didn't answer right away, carefully pondering the various answers. "I don't think anything is impossible," she said finally. "But I don't know how to help you find that place."

"Maybe Tony would buy me an island."

"I'm certain he would," she said, though she knew he'd been half joking. "Someday you'll find your peace."

He squinted into the distance for a moment. "Depends on if the Other Guy's immortal or not, I suppose."

Nat imagined that was a thought that kept him up at night sometimes. And there was almost certainly nothing she could say to make it better for him. "Clean up. There'll be pie waiting for you when you're done."

He nodded. "Thanks for letting us come here."

"You're always welcome here. We're family."

He smiled a little, and went into the bathroom. Nat made a note to make sure he got one of the good bedrooms, and didn't just insist on sleeping on the couch. She went investigating the clothes situation. She could get Bruce, Sam and probably Stark out of Clint's closet. Hopefully Bucky had leftovers for Steve. Thor was. . . on his own. After raiding his closet and leaving a pile in front of the bathroom Bruce was using, she took the rest of the pile back to the family room to see who was left to deal with.

She could see Thor in the living room, staring out the front window. Stark was at the other end of the room having a phone conversation with what sounded like Pepper. Clint was in the kitchen cutting the hunk of boar's meat with Sam. "They got the short straws," Clint said.

"Tony's busy with his phone call," Sam said. "I'm going to take his spot in precisely 15 seconds."

"He stinks worse than you," Clint commented.

"It's the suit," Nat said. "He sweats." She nudged him aside so she could get the oven open and check the pies. "Sounds like he's filling Pepper in on current events, so you might actually be able to squeeze the shower in before he's done."

Sam nodded, and glanced over at the pile of clothes she'd set down. "My uniform, however, is filthy."

"Nat appears to have raided my closet," Clint said. "Help yourself."

"Thanks," he said. He looked over at them. "We really appreciate you taking us in."

Nat smiled at him. "Well, I owed you one, didn't I?"

"Very true. That did work out well for me, though, I'll say that." He picked through the pile and tossed a t-shirt and sweatpants over his shoulder. "'Cept today."

"We've all had bad days," she told him. "I know this isn't your first."

"No. Did get to relive the worst one today, though. That was a lot of fun."

"What _happened_?" Clint asked. He held up a hand. "No, go shower. Tell us after."

Sam nodded. "Thanks. Yeah."

Nat watched him head for the back, then looked up at Clint. "How much alcohol do we have on the premises?"

"Enough for him and Stark. And Doc, assuming she's not Super Soldier'ed. Can't help the rest of 'em."

Somewhere on their project list she was going to add making a still to see if they could cook up something lethal enough for Steve and Bucky to get wasted on. 

Two of the pies were ready so she pulled them out and rotated more in. Clint had a decent stack of meat piled up, so she started gathering spices for a rub. "Barnes and Doc. . . did you know about that?"

He glanced over at her. "Did I know about what?"

She shook her head. Of course he hadn't noticed. They'd been standing right in front of him. If he'd seen them chatting in the orchard from a hundred yards he'd be planning the wedding. "He appears to have it bad for her."

"I. . ." he looked at the ceiling, like he could see through it to Barnes's room above the kitchen. "Really?"

"He offered her his clothes and let her use his shower. Have you known him to be free with his personal stuff and space?" She leaned away from the counter as she dumped pepper into a bowl. "Plus he hovered a hand over her lower back as they went upstairs. He wants to comfort her but isn't sure how."

"You could try suggesting our method."

Grinning, she said, "Pretty sure he's thought of that already." She laughed when Clint looked at the ceiling again.

"We'll make Rogers go get them for supper," he muttered.

Nat lined the boar steaks up on a tray and started rubbing the herbs and spices in. "Can you get the bag of potatoes out of the pantry? I think I'll just do standard mashed to go with this."

"We only have those weird purple potatoes left."

She wasn't in the mood to have the "they aren't weird" argument again. In any case, they didn't make great mash. "All right." She washed her hands quickly and headed for the pantry herself. "I'll see what I can put together. Yell if they start explaining what the hell is going on."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was VERY TIRED when I edited this. (My son started preschool last week and his sleep schedule is shot to hell.) So I apologize if there's more typos than usual.

Nat found the russet potatoes she was looking for, right on the shelf—you would think a man with 20/5 vision would be able to locate produce. She rolled her eyes and collected a few more ingredients, and when she came back Clint was back at the counter and the living room was empty. "Thor took off," he said. "Steve requested physical labor and went out to chop wood. Stark followed him." He cocked his head, listening to something Nat couldn't hear. "I think they're arguing."

"If they're breathing, they're probably arguing." She set her potatoes down and went digging for the peeler. On the counter, her phone buzzed and she craned her neck to read it. _Honey and candles? Romanov, you've been holding out on me._

She sighed. "We have more company."

"Hill?" he asked.

"No, I have her number. Pretty sure this is Fury."

He rubbed his brow with the back of his hand. "Of course."

The phone buzzed again. _Tell Stark I want to talk to him._

Since he was teasing her about the bee stuff she assumed he was in the little barn that Clint had put together for her equipment. Stark and Steve appeared to have finished their disagreement and were glaring at each other over their wood piles. So she stuck her head out the door and said, "Hey, Stark? There's a basket of candles and stuff for Pepper in the bee barn. Go grab it before I forget."

He marched off, calling, "Don't touch my pile!" over his shoulder like a petulant six year old. 

She didn't see Clint when she went back inside, but the kitchen did now contain Doc, dressed in a t-shirt and the paint splattered cargo pants Barnes had bought and ruined within two days when he and Clint were fixing the upstairs hall. She was poking gently in Nat's cabinets, clearly looking for something.

"Can I help?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound too protective of her cabinets.

The other woman jumped and turned to look at her. "Do you have hot tea?"

"I do." Walking to the pantry, she found the little tin of loose leaf and brought it back out to find the french press.

Doc smiled when she saw the whole leaves. "Thank you."

"We weren't really introduced. I'm Natasha Romanov."

"Amanda Newbury. We've actually met, a few years ago. But you were heavily drugged and had a hole in your stomach."

Nat tilted her head, trying to place the face. But she did remember the time. "The Winter Soldier gave me that hole," she said.

"I know. And now he has a room in your house." Amanda glanced up at the ceiling. "Life is a funny thing."

"Well, the room belongs to James Barnes."

She smiled softly and nodded. "That is an important distinction."

Amanda sat while she waited for the water to boil, and Nat went back to peeling potatoes. "So you're one of the SHIELD refugees?"

She nodded. "I worked at the Trisk as a doctor and researcher. I ran a triage center in the park after it fell. Maria Hill got in touch with me soon after about coming on at Stark." She pointed at the pile of potatoes. "Would you like help?"

"I appreciate it, but I only have the one peeler."

Something odd crossed the doctor's face, but she smiled faintly and said, "I'm pretty good with a knife."

Skeptical, Nat handed her a paring knife and a shoved some potatoes closer to her. She picked one up and carefully started peeling, keeping it on one long curl. "So you're the team medic?"

Amanda nodded. "I go on major missions. Patch people up when they need it. And I'm doing research on the super soldier serum. Trying to find medicinal uses for it."

"You live in the Tower?"

Another nod. "It was supposed to be temporary but-" She shrugged. "I'm surprisingly lazy about some things."

"Clint and I lived there for a bit. It was fun. I wonder sometimes, if we'd stayed. . ." She shrugged. Of course, if they'd stayed, and stayed on duty, they would have been with them at whatever happened. She didn't even want to imagine if Clint had had his head scrambled by that damn scepter again. She looked over at Amanda. "So far, nobody's mentioned what actually happened to you guys."

The potato peel broke and Amanda scowled at it as it it had personally offended her. She started up again, focusing on that and not Nat. "The AI that Stark created found two enhanced people. Twins. Hydra had been experimenting on them using the scepter. The boy can run extremely fast, faster than you can see. And the girl. . . she can manipulate thoughts. Make you experience things as if they are real. We confronted the three of them in South Africa, trying to keep them from getting their hands on vibranium. The girl. . . made everyone see things. Their worst fears. Except for Stark, who was in the suit."

"Sam said something about seeing his worst day," Nat said.

Amanda finished her potato and picked up another. "We haven't discussed them. Mine wasn't a memory, not a real one. James said his was a blend of real and fears. Becoming the Soldier again and hurting the people around him."

"That scepter is quite a bit of evil."

"Yes, it is. And Ultron still has it."

Nat was really not looking forward to telling Clint that. The back door opened and Steve came through it. "Hey," he said.

"Shower's free," Amanda offered.

That made Steve smile. "I'm looking forward to my shower. I'm a little emotionally attached to the plumbing system in this house."

"I've heard the war stories," she replied, reaching for another potato.

"I didn't dig out clothes for you," Nat said. "I assumed Bucky had something you could toss on."

"Yeah, I imagine he does. Stark is still in the barn."

"Fury wanted to talk to him. I imagine they're having some sort of pseudo paternal snark off." She started chopping the potatoes up to toss into her now steaming water. Amanda had the peeling well in hand.

"Somebody needs to talk to him," Steve said.

"Someone needs to kick him in the head," Amanda muttered, and Nat snorted. 

"I'm going to shower," Steve said. 

Once he was gone, Nat looked over at Amanda. "I ask this without commentary and only for logistical reasons. We don't have enough rooms for everyone. Do you require one?"

The knife slipped on the potato. Nat was kind of impressed Amanda got her fingers out of the way in time to avoid a nick. She was quiet a moment. "No. I don't. Though we are not advertising that."

"I've been there. You can take his room and we'll assign him the couch."

"I'm sure he will be amenable to that."

"And. . good. I want him to be happy."

Amanda smiled fondly. "It's very new and very. . . hesitant. But we are happy." She put a newly peeled potato on Nat's cutting board and moved to the last one. "Only Steve knows. Until now."

"Clint didn't notice."

"I think James is more concerned about the unending teasing we would get from Stark and/or Sam." Her face changed, and Nat looked over her shoulder to see Bucky in the doorway.

He came over to the counter, glancing at the potatoes, then back to Amanda's face. "You all right?" he asked, and Nat had the distinct impression she could have disappeared off the face of the earth and he wouldn't notice.

"I'm fine," Amanda said quietly. "We were discussing bedroom arrangements."

He glanced at Nat, then said to Amanda, "You can have my room."

She smiled in obvious affection and reached over to touch the back of his hand with a fingertip. "She figured it out, James," she said softly.

"Oh," he said, and he turned his hand to lace theirs together, apparently happy to be able to do so. "She's trustworthy."

"I figured she might be. Officially, I'm in your room and you're on the couch. Because you're gentleman like that," she added with a grin.

He grinned back, and it occurred to Nat that she'd never seen him smile like that. She could hear voices in the living room, Sam and Clint talking about something or other. Then the door banged open and Stark and Fury came in. Fury was complaining to Stark that he stunk.

"No planning is happening until he showers."

"No planning is happening until after dinner," Clint said. "Some of this crowd is unruly when hangry."

"Potatoes are in," Nat said, dropping the last one into the water. "I'll put the meat on the grill. We've got at least twenty minutes, plenty of time for you to shower," she told Stark. "Nick, can I get you something to drink?" she added, watching Amanda slip off her stool to go check on her tea.

"Barton said something about making limoncello?"

"I also told you it probably wasn't drinkable yet."

"I've been living like a bum for months, Barton, I assure you, I've drunk worse."

"We also have wine," Nat offered. "And vodka."

Stark, who had just left, popped back in the doorway. "Alaska vodka?" he asked a little too eagerly. 

"Long gone. But I did build another still. Nat likes it."

Bucky looked over at Amanda. "Does vodka go with tea?"

She sipped hers. "I'm willing to experiment."

Clint heaved himself out of his chair. "I'll be back."

Fury came to the kitchen counter after he disappeared down the cellar stairs. "Your dog is seriously named Bubbles?" 

Nat shrugged. "Junior is very persuasive. And I can stick to a joke like no one's business." She fiddled with her grill, setting the flames just right. "He can still rip your throat out with the right command. Bucky can you open the windows for me, it's about to get smoky in here."

Everyone gathered in the living room while the steaks were cooking, making what sounded mostly like small talk. Eventually Stark returned, having located Bruce wherever he'd gone to in the house and convinced him to come to dinner. He wasn't talking, but Nat figured just eating was a good sign. 

"Okay, this is killing me," Stark asked. "Why is there a dartboard hanging _in_ the downstairs shower?"

"Longest straight shot in the house," Clint said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He'd said that to her, in the exact same voice, when he'd first hung it.

He and Barnes then got up to demonstrate how if you propped open the shower door, bathroom door and stood in just the right spot in the kitchen, you could properly test your throwing skills. Stark then felt the need to give this a try and failed spectacularly.

"Stop poking holes in my house," Nat yelled over her shoulder, spooning herself more potatoes.

"I think you married the wrong man," Steve told her.

"He'll fix any holes he makes. I'm more concerned about Stark making this a _thing_ and not giving up till he hits the board."

Fury leaned back to yell, "Sit your ass down, you're not a marksman."

"That works, too," Steve muttered.

The three of them returned to the table like scolded children. When everyone was at the table again and most of the food had been picked clean, Fury finally got down to business. "Ultron took you all out of play to buy time. My contacts say he's building something. Amount of vibranium he took tells me it's a lot of somethings."

"Back up," Clint said. "We've heard bits and pieces and I think a full backstory would be useful."

"Aren't you two out of the game?" Steve asked.

"You are at my table," Clint said. "Humor me."

And so, Steve and Stark, with occasional comments from Bruce and Sam, filled them in on the last few days. From getting the scepter and meeting the enhanced twins. To attempting to build Ultron and his attack at the party. Trailing him to South Africa and a slightly longer version of the explanation Amanda had give Nat, about the visions the girl had caused. She noticed that while that part was being told Amanda and Barnes had moved their chairs closer and she was leaning on his shoulder. Apparently, the need for comfort out weighed their desire to be discreet. Not that Stark was the most observant person in the world, be probably wouldn't even notice.

"So what does he want?" Nat finally asked.

Fury sighed. "As best we can tell? To destroy the world."

She turned and looked over at Stark. "That whole suit around the world thing really isn't working out, is it?"

"Remarkably easy to criticize from the sidelines, isn't it?"

"Hey, I'm one of the people living in the world you're suppose to be saving."

"I swung and I missed," he said. "Clearly. But somebody had to do something. Somebody had to try. Aliens coming out of the sky, and the organization that claimed to be protecting us has been more interested in murdering people and stirring up shit."

Bucky held up a hand. "No, no, no. We are not have the fifth round of that argument. Stark fucked up, I killed people, you killed people, we've all got our skeletons. I'd rather work on solutions than blame."

"He needs to be taken out," Steve said. "Obviously. Hell if I know how, though."

The conversation got more productive after that. Nat listened with half an ear while she and Amanda cleared the plates and brought the pies and coffee over to the table. Eventually, they came upon the theory that Ultron was going to build himself a body via a scientist working on synthetic tissue that Amanda and Bruce knew in Seoul. 

"I need sleep," Stark said. "Without JARVIS I have to actually fly the jet the entire time. If you don't want to die on the way, we go in the morning."

"Bucky has graciously offered to sleep on the couch," Nat said. "But I can show the rest of you your rooms. And I'll even cook you breakfast in the morning."

"We're short a bedroom again," Clint said, pointing at Fury.

"I'll bunk in the living room, too," Steve said, casting a glance in Bucky and Amanda's direction. So he would _actually_ sleep on the couch.

Nat went and fetched him some sheets while the rest of them finished clearing the table and finding their own rooms. "The couch reclines," she offered as Steve joined her in the living room. "Clint sleeps here more than he'll admit. You'll be all right." She paused, studying him. "Are you all right?"

He shrugged a little. "As much as anyone is."

"Do you want to talk?" she pressed. Steve was, in his way, as hard a nut to crack as she was. He was being strong for his team, but she wasn't, technically, on his team anymore.

He looked at her for a moment, then said, "I miss you."

She swallowed hard around the lump in her throat. "I miss you, too," she admitted.

"I'm glad you're happy. I'm glad Bucky's happy, too. People should do that. Have lives, have loved ones. Take what you can, while you can."

"You never called that nurse, did you?" She knew she'd sounded like a teenager or something, trying to set her friend up with whoever was handy. But Steve needed someone, more than anyone she ever knew. Someone to ground him, to be strong when he needed to be weak. All the friends in the world couldn't make up for that.

He made a face, then said, "I ran into her, actually. At Peggy's funeral. You know she's her niece?"

"I knew her niece worked for SHIELD." She hoped he didn't notice that wasn't actually an answer to his question. "Fury has a sense of humor."

"I did notice that, yes." He shrugged again. "I figured it would be too weird."

Of course he had. "You're a superhero, Steve. Ninety odd years old. Weird is what you do. Normal isn't going to understand you. You deserve to be happy too. You deserve a life."

"I _had_ a life." He looked so haunted when he said it, she knew suddenly that's the hallucination he'd been given. The life he had—or didn't get to have. 

"I know," she said softly. "And it isn't fair that that was taken from you." Reaching out, she took his hand, holding tightly. "But now you have _this_ life. And you deserve to have all the love and happiness you missed out on before. But you have to want it. And you have to reach for it." Her throat worked a moment. "If I'd never reached for Clint, never taken a leap I wasn't sure I'd make, then I wouldn't be here now."

He looked around. "Here is pretty nice." He looked back at her. "I don't know, Nat. Maybe the guy who wanted all that stuff is gone."

"Maybe," she conceded, only because it was rude to inform someone you knew them better than they knew themselves. "But if Bucky - who lost the life he wanted and went through a hell of a lot of shit on top of it - if he can find someone. If he can be happy. I really think you can be too."

"First I have to save the world," he said. "Again."

She gave a little half smile, "Well, as long as it's on your list."

He watched her a moment. "Come with us."

In a way, she'd been waiting for that all evening. "We got out for a good reason, Steve."

"I know," he said. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Steve thought he could carry the weight of the whole world. "I'm sorry, it was rude of me to ask."

There was something about a sad Steve Rogers that really did make you want to promise him the world. She reached up and ruffled his hair. "Try to get some sleep," she said quietly. "You'll need to be sharp."

"Yes," he said. "Thank you for taking us in."

"Anytime." She gave him another little ruffle and left him alone. 

The kitchen was empty, everyone deciding privacy and sleep was more important. She decided the dishes could wait as well, and headed up to bed. Outside Bucky's door, she paused and heard the murmur of talk. Apparently, he wasn't even going to pretend to go downstairs. Well, good for them.

Clint was already in their room and looked up when she came in, closing the door behind her. Bubbles was sprawled on the foot of the bed. "I thought it was better to shut her in here so she isn't bothering people.

She sank onto the bed and stroked the dog's head. "Good idea. I think it'll be hard enough for some of them to sleep."

"How you holding up?" he asked.

"I think I'm all right." She sighed, shoulders slumping. "Steve asked if we'd come with them."

Clint touched her back. "What did you say?"

"That we got out for a reason. He apologized immediately."

He was quiet a moment. "Do you want to?"

Her silence was a little longer than his. "I don't want to. But I feel like. . . maybe we should."

"Go save the world again?"

"Well, it just keeps getting into trouble," she said, trying for humor.

"We have no obligation to join them. Hell, we weren't even supposed to be Avengers by Fury's original plan. We got sucked in because we happened to be there."

"I know," she said quietly. He was right and she knew he was right. "It just feels wrong to send them out on their own when we might be able to help."

"Whatever we do, we do it together."

She met his gaze and stretched her hand out to take his. "Always."

He tugged her closer. "How about we sleep on it?"

"That's probably a good idea." She tucked herself into his chest, taking a deep breath of his scent. "I was totally right about Doc and Bucky."

He rubbed her back and tangled his fingers into her hair. "I did notice them retiring together."

Nat closed her eyes to enjoy the petting. "He's happy. I've never seen him smile the way he did at her. She worked for SHIELD, said she saw me after the Soldier took me down in Odessa."

"Well, that's strangely ironic."

"I like it when fate comes full circle. Makes me feel like we're doing something right."

"I'm glad he's happy. Being alone is shitty."

"Like it or not, we are social creatures." Reluctantly, she stepped away to start getting ready for bed. "I think Steve is lonely. Especially with Bucky finding someone."

"Thinking of getting him a mail-order-bride?"

If only it were that simple. "I don't know. I just think he needs. . . someone. And he's not willing to let himself find them." She stripped off her shirt, tossing it in the general direction of the hamper. "He reminds me of me, too afraid to make a leap of faith. With no one there to push him."

Clint stood up himself, shooing the dog off the bed and pulling back the covers. He tossed his pajama pants at the same hamper before climbing in. "We were both stumbling around in the dark back then. If I'd never gone to Alaska. . ."

"We needed the push," she said. "At least I did." Her jeans went in the hamper, too and she took a minute to braid her hair to keep it from getting tangled as she slept. "In the end it was worth it, I think. But Steve doesn't even had anyone he's stumbling around. In a way his walls are higher than mine."

He lifted the covers for her. "Maybe he needs time to grieve."

Nat climbed in next to him, curling against his chest. "For Peggy?" Maria Hill had texted her a few months back about it, it had been on the international news a few hours later.

"That's got to be kind of a mind fuck. If I went on a mission, got knocked out and woke up and suddenly you were 95, I would take it pretty hard. Dead would have been better."

And that wasn't even taking into account the mess with Bucky. She supposed he had had a lot of hard blows. And, if she was being honest, having her disappear just as they were becoming proper friends probably hadn't helped. She rested her head on Clint's shoulder. "Maybe after all this is over I can convince him to come visit more. Maybe our peace will be contagious."

Clint was quiet a moment. "If you want my honest opinion, I don't think he wants peace. I think he wants to come home on his shield."

The thought made her sad, mostly because she couldn't argue with it. "I don't know how to help him," she admitted quietly.

"Maybe we _should_ go with them."

"To make sure Steve doesn't kamikaze?"

"To make sure a Last Stand doesn't seem like a good idea."

She was silent a long moment, listening to his breathing and the steady thump of his heartbeat. "Let's do it," she said softly.

She could feel him smile. "Well. Now I'm glad I oiled my favorite compound bow."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We skim quite a bit of movie events in this one, having already written it in detail in Heavy Boots. If you haven't seen Age of Ultron you might get a little lost.
> 
> Also, we hew a bit closer to movie canon on this one. Sorry Pietro fans.

It was dark when they got up, both of them going down to start breakfast and survey their weaponry options. By the time the others began wandering downstairs around dawn, pancakes were piled high on plates on the counter and Clint had hauled their trunks up from the cellar. They lived a life without violence now, each of them carrying little more than a utility knife. There was a handgun in their bedroom and a shotgun in the pantry, but that was about it. However, they still were who they were, so they kept some of their heavier gear locked away down there, just in case. 

Nat had all of her kitchen knives out for inspection, testing them for balance. "I miss my trick arrows," he said, opening the case that contained his AS50 sniper rifle. He had just about the best arrows money could buy, and could do plenty of damage with them. But the really cool ones had run out not long after the fall of SHIELD. 

"I miss my stingers," Nat answered with a sigh. 

Right then, Stark dropped something on the kitchen table. It was kind of a mess of wires and metal and a small arc reactor. "Try this."

"What the hell is it?"

"Stingers. Not nearly as pretty, but I made do with what I had."

Clint looked up. "You 'had'? Where? Your room?"

He made a face that indicated he thought Clint was an idiot. "Of course. You're going to need new smoke detectors and the TV is definitely not savable. Sorry about the hole in the wall."

Nat had slid one on her wrist, which Clint considered somewhat suicidal. She flexed her wrist and gestured with it a couple times. "Huh." Popping up on her toes, she gave Stark a kiss on the cheek. "I've missed you."

"How did you know we were coming?" Clint asked.

"I didn't, until I came down and saw that," he gestured at the AS50. "Call it a leap of faith."

"Have some pancakes," Nat told him, sliding the stinger off her hand. "Was anyone else stirring when you came down?"

"Passed Steve on the stairs heading up to the bathroom. Knocked on Bruce's door to make sure he wasn't dead. Sam's in the shower. Thor has still not come back." He paused. "Sounded like Barnes and Doc are getting it on. I'm still pretending I don't know about that, so I didn't knock."

"That was very restrained of you."

Stark sat down and served himself some pancakes. Bruce came down a few minutes later, glanced at the pile of weaponry and gave a sort of half smile before finding a spot next to Stark. Sam gave Nat a very enthusiastic hug when he came down and realized they were tagging along.

When Fury came down, they got an eye roll and a dry, "I knew it."

"We did say we'd come back if there was another New York," Clint commented. 

"This does seem to fit the bill."

Amanda and Bucky were next. Everyone pretended not to notice the hickey on her collar bone. When Bucky saw the AS50 he came over to inspect it, giving Clint a comradely sock in the arm in the process. It hurt enough Clint winced. Clearly the guy was used to punching Steve.

"Sorry," he mumbled, leaning over to peer at the gun. Amanda waved a cup of coffee in front of him which he took without looking up. "What's the longest you've done on this?"

"Three thousand meters, give or take," he replied. 

He whistled, and out of the corner of his eye Clint saw Amanda and Nat give matching, indulgent head shakes as they loaded up plates.

Steve came down last, took in the pancakes, the weapon crates, and Nat fiddling with her new stingers and met her gaze.

She smiled and lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "Well, with harvest done we have some free time."

"It's an honor to go to war with you again," he replied.

"You too. Come have some breakfast."

Fury left at the same time they did, off to do something dramatic and take Stark and Banner to New York. Because apparently there was a whole 'nother side to this where the megalomaniac AI was also loose and causing trouble on the internet, and Team Nerd had to deal with that, too. 

Hours sitting around on a quinjet was not something Clint missed in the least. Nat sat up in the front with him, though, which helped. She was fidgeting with her stingers and pretending she wasn't listening in to the conversations behind them. "Just like old times, huh?"

He stretched his arms over his head, staring at the blackness of thousands of miles of ocean in front of them. "Do you miss it?"

She glanced back at the group. "I miss them. But missions, danger, contemplating my own mortality? No, I don't miss that. I like our olives and out trees and our bees."

"Are we going to regret this?"

"Maybe." She peered out the window a moment. "Just. . . whatever happens, we do it together."

"And no dying."

"Agreed."

Seoul turned out to be quite the adventure. Ultron was, in fact, making himself a body. He'd put Dr. Cho under the scepter's mind control, and then put the stone from the scepter into his new body. Unfortunately for him, Nat stole it from him while he was making his getaway. She climbed on and surfed the damn thing right into the back of the quinjet Clint was flying.

And then, in a heartbeat, she was gone.

Steve ordered him to get the body to New York and Stark. It was on the tip of this tongue to tell Steve he wasn't going anywhere without his wife. But Nat and the bots that had taken her were long gone, with no trail for him to lock on. Going off on his own with this freaky ass cargo wasn't the smart move. He had a better chance to get her back working with the others. So, despite the fact it was the last thing on earth he wanted to do, he headed towards New York as fast as the jet would take him.

Stark and Banner took the casket to do god knew what. In hindsight, he probably should have intervened, but he didn't care. He needed to find Nat. He seriously considered stealing the quinjet, but he had no idea where she was.

Stark proclaimed they'd know if she was dead. It didn't make Clint feel any better.

Desperate and at loose ends, he went to the little communications room underneath the lab and started scanning radio frequencies. Out of the game they might be, but he had no doubt Nat remembered all their little tricks.

He listened for what felt like days but was probably more like a couple hours. Everybody and their nephew operating a ham radio. He checked the frequencies they had always used for emergencies and got nothing, and was going through the wider bands out of desperation. When he came back to check their frequencies, one of them had a pattern in morse code. _Trapezious. Lavator Scapulae._

Relief was a like a drug. For a moment he just rested his forehead on the back of his hand and listened to the dots and dits spell out shoulder muscles. Finally, he replied with, _Rhomboid._

There was a pause, then a series of numbers that proved to be longitude and latitude that put her square in Sokovia. There was clearly drama going on upstairs, he could hear the yelling. But he still was having trouble mustering any give-a-damn. This really had been a mistake, but now he was invested, if only to get Nat back. He replied to the coordinates with, _I love you_.

_Love you back_ , came almost immediately. _You can have two goats._

God, did he adore her. The noise upstairs intensified. He hoped they weren't going to blow up the building. He needed them to go rescue his wife.

*

After the initial round of traditional threats, Ultron didn't seem to have much to say to Nat. He didn't even notice her rather lengthy time on the makeshift radio she'd cobbled together. Too interested in making his little army of vibranium clones. She was starting wish she had a book or something when the drones started vacating the warehouse like ants leaving a flooded nest.

From its hiding spot under the bed, her little radio began ticking morse code. _Budapest._

She grinned, paused just long enough to reply, _Here we go again_ , then started working on the lock to her little cage. Picking a 400 year old iron lock wasn't the hardest thing in the world, even if she was doing it blind and with her hand twisted. Honestly, she had no idea how they kept prisoners in jails back in the day. 

Well, maybe that's why the stocks and hanging were so popular. 

Opening the door made a great metal scraping and whining noise that was probably audible outside. She heard footsteps and braced herself for a fight. Instead, she got Clint coming around the corner at a full run, just barely missing crashing right into the iron bars.

She waited for him to steady himself, then launched herself at him, arms going around his neck. His arms clamped around her, strong and steady and for a few heartbeats they both just held on, while the rest of the world could go to hell. "Hi," she said finally.

He kissed her shoulder, and his voice caught. "Hi."

"I'm all right," she assured him. "Not even a bruise."

He leaned back. "All right. Let's add this to our list of terrible ideas never to be discussed again, and get the hell out of here."

"Agreed." She fell into step next tim him, grabbing his arm a couple times when the ground got rough. "Where's everyone else?"

"Fighting robots in the city."

She shook her head, suddenly missing her bees a whole lot. "Sounds like a fun afternoon."

His eyes searched her face. "What if we just left? Just went home?"

For a moment, she toyed with the idea. They'd gotten out of this game for good reasons. Coming back in had led to her getting kidnapped by a crazy robot. Why should they keep going?

Sighing, she reached up to touch his face. "How well are you going to sleep tonight leaving our friends here?"

"I've done worse," he said, not sounding particularly convincing. Or convinced. "I just. . ." he tipped his head back. "This was such a bad idea."

"Yes, it was. We're outgunned, without a working plan. But Ultron's not stopping at Sokovia. He's looking at evolution. Extinction. There's no farm to go back to if he succeeds."

He grinned. "'Succeed or die' is a very Natasha Romanov motivational speech."

"Hey, you want emotion and inspiration call Steve." She reached out and took his hand. "At least we're together."

He fished an earpiece from his pocket and handed it to her. "Then here we go."

Around the time the city started to lift up in the air, it occurred to Nat that they probably should have just left. But that was no longer an option, so she kept Clint in her sights and kept fighting the robots, because what other option did she have?

The fight had its moments. She'd forgotten how funny the rest of them could be, sassing each other on the comm. She'd almost forgotten how very lethal her husband could be. She wasn't surprised by the kindness and compassion when he stopped to give a pep talk to the scared girl who'd kind of started this whole mess.

She'd been that girl once. Young and damaged and exhausted by the weight of her own misery. He'd ignored his very simple order to kill her, and helped her learn how to be a person instead. She couldn't help the flare of pride she felt when the girl got back up and blew away a bank of drones pinning them down.

Fury and his rag tag bunch of leftover SHIELD agents arrived before anyone did anything drastic, though Nat made a mental note to poke Steve about his unerring willingness to go down with the ship.

Fighting in the church with the rest of them felt like going back in time. Clint by her side, back-to-back with people she trusted. Tearing thought what felt like endless waves of enemies, with the fate of the world on their shoulders. And then, thank God and all the pagan ones, Steve gave the order to evacuate.

Clint found a BMW convertible, of all things, and looked very proud of himself. "Hey, not all of us can fly," he said as he waved her over.

She hopped in over the door as he peeled away. "Handles better than the truck," she teased.

"Maybe I'll buy one when we get home. Or you can buy me one with your bee money."

"Maybe we'll just name one of the goats Beamer."

He laughed. "Square deal." They were able to take the car within a few yards of the last of the boats, currently filling up with the last of the refugees. Climbing out of the car, she and Clint both scanned the area, jogging towards the boat.

Nothing had felt as good at the hard metal beneath her feet. Clint set his bow down, took off his quiver and rolled his shoulders. "I've gotten un-used to this."

"Never again," she said. She started inspecting him for injury - they were both the type to try to walk off a broken bone - when he stiffened. Turning swiftly, she followed his gaze and saw the small shape struggling to get through the rubble.

Clint sighed and looked around. "Sure, now Speedy Gonzales is nowhere to be found." 

She shook her head. Clint had known the Maximoff boy for a handful of hours and already they had an oddly fraternal rivalry going on. "I'll go get him," she offered.

"No," he said. "Stay on the boat. For the sake of my ulcer. I'll go."

He jogged off towards the kid in the rubble before she could comment on her ulcer. She watched him reach the boy who appeared to have an injured leg. Clint scooped him up and turned back towards the boat, then froze.

She heard the whine of a quinjet coming, then the rattle of gun fire. Consciously, she didn't really have time to process what was happening, but her stomach sank and she screamed.

As fast as she could blink, there was a car flipped up protecting Clint and the boy, and as the quinjet passed, she saw Pietro Maximoff standing there for just a moment, shirt turning scarlet before he crumpled.

Tapping her comm, she snapped, "Doc, boat five, Pietro's down." She was running as she was talking, skidding to her knees next to Clint, wrapping her arms around him and the kid. She got an answering squeeze, and then turned to see Doc dropping across from her with her equipment. Nat counted the bullet holes, looked at the blood all over the ground, spreading every direction. Doc took a pulse and shook her head.

Over the comm, Wanda screamed. Nat flinched and clawed at her earpiece, but the noise cut out before she got it out. She leaned back to look at Clint and the terrified little boy in his lap and said, hoarsely, "Let's get him on the boat."

He nodded, and handed her the kid—who didn't know her from Adam, but clung to her neck anyway. Nat carried him, and Clint and Doc carried Pietro back to the boat. They put him on the floor and Clint collapsed onto the row of seats across from her. He was now covered in blood from chest to knees, and when he grimaced Doc cast a critical eye over him. "Any of that yours?" she asked gently.

Clint tipped his head back. "Maybe. No bullets, though. It can wait."

On Nat's lap, the boy had started to shake with sobs.

Sokovian was similar enough to Russian she thought they could probably fake it. "I'm Natasha," she said softly, rubbing his back. "It's all right, I'll protect you. Help you find your mother."

He sniffled. "Our car fell off the bridge. We were stuck and Papa told me to crawl out the window and then it fell. My sister was still in the window."

Well. Shit. She hugged him a little closer, rocking him gently. "I'm sorry." She had no idea what else to say.

Doc crouched down in front of them as the ramps were pulled up in preparation for departure. "I'm Amanda. What's your name?" she asked the boy.

He looked up at Nat, who translated for him, then back over at Doc. "Mikael."

"Nice to meet you, Mikael. I'm a doctor. Can I take a look at your leg?"

He glanced at Nat again, who translated and added, "She's my friend, it's okay." He nodded and Doc shifted him slightly to do her exam.

After manually palpitating it and scanning it with one of the many machines attached to her Iron Man-like suit, she proclaimed it badly bruised but not broken. By the time they reached the carrier it was wrapped in and ACE bandage with an ice pack and Nat was coaxing a couple of Motrin into him.

In hear earpiece, Steve was doing a roll call of who was where. Stark and Thor needed to blow the rock. Nobody knew where Wanda was because her comm was out. 

Clint roused himself enough to say, "She'll still be in the church unless she's dead."

"I'm here," Thor said. "She's not."

"I have no idea where Banner went, either," Stark said. "Though he'd probably survive the fall."

"He just flung one of the Ultrons off a quinjet," Fury said. "Hill says all the boats are in, but somebody has to chase that stray."

"We seriously have like 30 seconds," Stark said.

"I've located the girl," Vision said, sounding right then _exactly_ like JARVIS, subtle exasperation and all. "I will go get her and then I will go chase the stray. Go blow things up, Stark."

"I liked it better when you called me Sir."

"Life is full of disappointment," he responded, then went quiet. Nat saw him zipping by in the distance and figured Wanda was in good hands.

Doc made Clint come to the infirmary with her and Nat trailed behind, still carrying Mikael as he seemed disinclined to let her go. Clint got stitches, cleaned up and a change of clothes. He sat down next to her and put his arms around the two of them, pressing his face into her hair.

"We made it," she said softly, not entirely sure who she was reassuring. "We can go home."

He didn't say anything, but she could feel him nod. From between them, a little voice asked, "Where do I go?"

Clint leaned back and looked down at him. "We'll find your family." Immediately, the crying resumed and Mikael began shaking his head. Panicked, Clint looked back up at Nat.

"They fell," she said softly. "When the city lifted. He was the only one who got out of the car. I can ask around for aunts and uncles, but . . . it's kinda chaotic down where the refugees are."

Around sobs, he got out, "We were. . . just us."

Clint hunched down and stroked his hair. "Okay. Then you'll stay with us."

Nat looked at the back of his head, wondering if he could feel her stare. They had bounced around the idea of adopting for a while now, but not made any movement towards it. Inviting a kid to come live with them seemed like something he should run past her. But then she looked down at the kid and sighed. What was she going to say?

She hugged Mikael a little tighter. "We have a farm," she told him. "With chickens and fruit trees and a dog."

After a moment of silence, he said, "I like dogs."

"His name is Bubbles and he's very friendly. And Clint - this is my husband, Clint, by the way - he wants to get goats. Have you ever seen a goat?"

He shook his head. He didn't say anything, but the crying had paused. She imagined there was going to be a lot of crying in the future.

"They smell," she said, since the talking seemed to be working. "I keep bees, too, but they're very nice bees. They make the most delicious honey." The three of them sat there, in chairs outside the bustling infirmary, and she and Clint told him all about the farm and the food they made and the animals they had. She had to translate here and there, but his English was better than she'd expected. There was almost certainly a meeting being had somewhere, or someone looking for them. But for the moment, this was far, far more important.


	4. Chapter 4

The refugee situation was so overwhelming that nobody seemed to mind the two of them taking charge of this one kid. The words had surprised Clint when they'd come out of his mouth. Certainly they'd surprised Nat. He was, in retrospect, very glad she didn't kick him in the head. 

She still might, of course.

It had been decided that they helicarrier would land in the Adriatic off the Italian coast and put into port in Trieste where the Red Cross was already setting up. Everyone had to be disembarked and processed and camps were being set up in various locations. The rest of Sokovia and parts of Austria and the Czech Republic were being pelted with small rocks from the exploded city, and the remnants of the ruined Sokovian government were going to need a little time before they could handle their own refugees. Austria took the ground refugees, and Italy took the ones brought in by air.

Clint and Nat were Italian citizens, and could have just waltzed off the boat and gone home, but Mikael needed to be properly processed—in case some family member did surface. The wait on the boat for disembarking was pretty damn long. Nat found the lock codes on the armory doors had never been changed, and so found them a quiet place on the very crowded ship to camp out in for the wait. Clint volunteered to hang out with the kid while Nat went to find out what the team was up to.

She returned an hour later. "We might now be even," she opened with.

"You invited them all to our house, didn't you?"

"Yes. Yes I did." She sank down next to him, careful not to disturb Mikael, who had dozed off on Clint's lap. "Not everyone accepted, " she added, handing him a plastic wrapped sandwich and an apple. "Stark wants to go home and see Pepper and the kids. Vision’s going with him. Thor's already gone to see Jane. Doc's staying with the Red Cross for a while and Bucky's gonna stay with her. But Steve and Sam and the Maximoff girl will be coming home with us." 

"I had been thinking maybe we ought to offer her a place to be for a little while."

She nodded, munching on her own sandwich for a moment. "So," she said, reaching out to touch Mikael's hair. "We're parents now?"

Clint sighed. She didn't sound like she was going to kick him in the head, at least. "Pietro died saying his life. And mine. I kind of feel like letting this kid languish as an orphan in a refugee camp would just be. . . wrong. On a karmic level. Particularly given the Maximoffs’ childhood. And mine."

Her fingers stroked lightly over the boy's dark hair. "He held me very tightly," she said softly. "Of course I wasn't going to say no. But next time a glance and arched brow might be nice." She looked up at him. "I am not under the impression that this will be your last stray."

"Well. We should give it some time before we talk about a sibling."

"Of course. He'll need time to settle with us. And feel safe." She tilted her head thoughtfully. "I doesn't frighten me. Not in reality. In theory it was scary, but not now."

"Maybe it was our test run looking after an adorable brainwashed assassin." 

"We did do a hell of a job on that one."

"This one is probably going to be a longer, harder journey."

"That's true." Shifting, she leaned her head on his shoulder. "We skipped diapers, at least."

"That one time was plenty."

"More than enough. Still have to deal with puberty."

He leaned over and kissed her temple. "Thank you."

"I love you," she said softly. 

Someone, somewhere pulled a couple of strings for them, and they were cleared for disembarking a couple of hours later, with the bonus loan of a quinjet to take them home. Clint had never been so glad to flatten his own grass in his life.

Nat took over logistics, finding people rooms and showers. He heard her on the phone calling around to neighbors and farmer’s market friends finding spare clothes for Mikael and Wanda. In the time it took him to run Bubbles around the yard and check on the chickens, she had everyone more or less settled and was starting to cook. . . whatever meal this was, with a determination usually reserved for black ops wet work.

He introduced Mikael to Bubbles, and within five minutes the little boy had his arms around the dog and his face buried in his fur. Clint crouched down. "I'm going to go check on Nat making dinner. Do you need anything?"

He shook his head, not bothering to lift his head out of the dog's fur. Bubbles, for his part, sat patiently, panting. He patted the dog's head and the boy's back, and stood to go see how the food was coming along.

The kitchen smelled delicious. Nat appeared to have emptied half the fridge and most of the cabinets. As he came in, she pulled out a tray of biscuits and set them on the counter to cool.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

She looked at the mess she'd made of the kitchen and frowned. "I do appear to be stress feeding. But I actually feel okay."

He came closer, just because he wanted to touch her. "The whole thing seems even more surreal now that we're back home. Did that really all just happen?"

"No," she said, leaning into him. "All a bad dream."

He picked up a very hot biscuit and bounced it between his hands to cool it. "Once again we saved the world."

Without a word she moved the butter bell closer to him. "Yes, we did. For the last time." She braced her elbows on the counter. "I don't think I can do it again. Watch a gun be pointed at you and not be able to stop it. And I know my time out of contact couldn't have been fun for you."

"When you were grabbed and Steve ordered me to leave and fly that stupid box back to New York and I had no idea if you were alive or not? No, I would not describe that as fun." He took a deep breath, aware that had come out angrier than he intended.

Nat reached over and took his hand. "We're done. We'll be their friends and their safe house and maybe help with advice or training. But no more missions."

He felt himself relax a little. "No more missions." She slid her arms around him and kissed him, as if sealing the agreement.

Wanda told them she wasn't hungry, and said she was going to bed. Clint didn't imagine she'd sleep, but he also knew there wasn't really anything anyone could say to her. Dinner was quiet, Steve and Sam looking exhausted, Mikael stuffed his face as if he hadn't eaten in days.

Natasha shooed him and the rest out so she could clean up. He knew she needed a little processing time, so he obeyed, helping herd Sam and Steve out. They went to their rooms, as no one was particularly in the mood to chat. Then he let Mikael tag along as he and Bubbles did their evening patrol of the yard.

The little boy was yawning by the time they got back and Nat appeared to still be packing up left overs, so it looked like Clint was on call for bedtime duty. He recalled when they watched the Stark kids, there was a very specific routine for bedtime. He didn't know if a kid Mikael's age still had one. Clint's patchy Russian and the boy's school-lesson English didn't help. But he tried. "Is there anything specific you usually do before bed?"

He blinked and seemed to consider the question a moment. "Brush teeth. Pajamas. Mama reads me a book sometimes." He jaw tightened and he looked embarrassed. "I had a stuffed wolf who guarded the bed. But he's gone."

Clint remembered, painfully, being the same age and having _nothing_. A little boy trying to be stoic. Trying to be a man. And then crying himself to sleep. He was certain Mikael would do that tonight, and many nights afterward. "We can go get you one tomorrow. For tonight, if you want, you can borrow Bubbles, who usually guards my bed."

Mikael looked down at the dog and rested his hand on his head. Bubbles leaned into him. "I'd like that. If you're sure it's all right."

"I think you need him more than me, right now."

He nodded and offered Clint a small, sad smile. 

Clint found him a tooth brush and an old under shirt of his that hung to the kid's knees but would do to sleep in. The didn't have any age appropriate books and Clint was pretty sure none of his stories would make good bedtime stories. So he just sat and rubbed Mikael's back for a while. Then he told Bubbles to stay and left him to sleep.

Nat was coming upstairs, looking tired, but she smiled when she saw him coming out of Mikael's room. "All right?"

Clint nodded. "The dog will keep an eye on him."

"Good. When the men leave we'll have more time to spend with him and Wanda."

"I thought about bringing her some vodka." He glanced in the direction of her door. "But I don't know that a drunk and upset telekinetic is a good idea."

Nat smiled. "We just got the house how we like it." She tucked an arm through his. "Let's give her time to mourn her own way."

He opened their bedroom door. "I'm going to hang a sign out front saying 'Barton Farm and Superhero Recovery Halfway House'."

"I like it. It's catchy."

Inside, he sat on the foot of the bed and rubbed his eyes. "God, what a couple of days."

"Yeah." She sank down next to him and rested her head on his shoulder. "Let's not answer the phone for a little while. Hunker down with our refugees and ignore the rest of the world."

He kissed her hair. "That sounds magnificent."

She turned her head and caught his mouth, kissing him properly. There was several days worth of grief and worry and loss in the kiss. They both desperately needed this connection, especially after the hell they'd been through. He groaned, cradling her face in his hands. "Tasha," he whispered.

"I'm here," she told him, sliding her hands under the hem of his shirt. He lifted his arms so she could take it off, and pulled hers over her head while he was at it. He wanted to feel her skin against his. To prove she was there, and alive, and they still had each other.

She unhooked her bra and them climbed into his lap, so they were skin to skin. Running his hands over her, he tried to memorize her all over again. She all but purred, lifting up into his hands. He kissed where her neck met her shoulder. "You're mine."

"Always and forever," she said, running her fingers along his chest, nuzzling at his neck. He cupped her breasts, and then tipped her back so he could take one nipple in his mouth. She groaned, holding his shoulders and arching herself up into his mouth. Her hair spilled down across his arm like silk. Clint leaned back, draping her on top of him. He shoved the waistband of her pants down. He wanted her _naked_. This, what lived beneath their clothes and armor, was theirs alone.

She lifted up and together they fought off first her pants, then his, rolling around on the bed to do it. And then they were both naked and he could touch her everywhere and anywhere. His hands skimmed down her back, cupped her ass, and she gasped and kissed him hard, mumbling her need. 

They were both sore and exhausted, so he wanted to be careful. But the thrum of desperation between them was impossible to ignore. This was the language they spoke. Desire and pleasure and trust. 

Her fingers curled around his erection, stroking lightly, then with intent. "We should only do this," she whispered, nipping at his throat. "Always and forever."

"Yes. We'll just stay in bed full time." They couldn't, though. The world was outside, more messed up and complicated than it had been just a few days ago. But right now it had narrowed to this room, this bed.

He traced his fingertips down over her skin, dipping between her legs and finding her wet. He stroked her a little, coaxing her open. She moaned, then whimpered, hips rocking and lifting into his touch. She tugged at his cock. "Come. . . come inside."

His hand palm slid over her thigh, cupping beneath and tugging her leg over his hip. He pulled her closer, and then her slick heat closed around him. Nat sighed, wrapping her arms and legs tight around him. Her mouth found his and she kissed him, hot and deep and intense, as he started to move.

It wasn't much more than a slow rocking, the way they were laying. It was intense and slow, more friction then motion. But the sounds she made grew desperate, and her nails dug into the skin of his back. He rolled them, and she arched up as he thrust harder.

"Yes," she breathed. "Fuck, yes." She grew hotter and slicker around him and a few strokes later he felt her muscles started to flutter around him. Then she was coming, arching and shuddering beneath him.

"Tasha, Tasha," he gasped, letting her pull him, letting it wash over him, losing himself in her as she held him as tight as she could.

She stroked his back and murmured nonsense that might not have been English but was still somehow soothing. They were home, alive and finally, truly retired. The most dangerous things they'd face now were unruly houseguests and angry goats.

"I love you," he whispered. "So much. I was so scared I lost you."

Her fingers tangled in his hair. "I love you back. I don't ever want to see you on the wrong end of a gun again."

"No more," he said, even though they'd already agreed. "No more."

"No more." She drew his mouth down to hers. "We'll help in our own way, by being a soft place to fall for those who need it."

He pulled the blankets messily around them. "Sounds like a plan."

She reached down and grabbed one of her shoes, throwing it at the light switch to turn it off. Then she rolled back into his arms, cuddling close. "I'll even keep my promise about the goats."

*

Clint was sound asleep, but Nat woke with the sun. Well, someone had to see to the chickens, she supposed, so she got up. She was surprised—but also not surprised—to find Wanda out back, staring off at the orchard.

The girl didn't acknowledge her until Nat was standing next to her and even then it was only a glance down. Nat studied the sunlight piercing the trees a moment, then said, "Would you like to help me feed the chickens?"

Wanda turned and looked at her for a moment, then nodded. Nat handed her the empty egg basket and led her down the path, stopping at the shed to grab the bag of feed. They fed the chickens and gathered eggs in silence. On the way back to the house, Wanda said, "He feels guilty."

"Clint?" That didn't surprise her at all. "He feels your brother died for him. He doesn't handle that sort of thing well."

"He didn't intend to. Pietro. He thought he could outrun the bullets."

Nat smiled sadly, because she'd been that young and confident once and was only by luck she'd made it to the other side. "I'm not sure that helps any."

"Maybe right now nothing helps." She hunched her shoulders. "I only. . ." She paused, like she was looking for the English word. "If I am causing pain here. Being a reminder. I should go."

"No." Nat reached over and touched her shoulder. "We want you here. Both of us. We've been where you are and we know how hard it is to lose people. This is a good place to heal. You're welcome here as long as you want to stay."

She hesitated. "I had a nightmare last night, and I dented the plaster in my room."

"Clint will be thrilled. He loves messing with the plaster." Wanda looked skeptical. "I'm not lying. You can check."

That got a small smile, then she said, "I have a ledger now."

Her ledger had been left behind, more or less, traded for gardening logs and crop inventory. "If that helps you, then feel free to keep it. When you're ready, we can help you find ways to wipe out the red."

"Is that really possible?"

"That's a question only you can answer. I tried for years but it never seemed like enough. I stopped keeping track, eventually, choosing to put my time and effort here. In the land and the animals. It's helped more than the ledger ever did." She rubbed Wanda's arm lightly. "But I needed my time with the ledger to appreciate the peace I feel here."

"I suppose that I have plenty of. Time."

"Yes. And you don't have to decide anything today. Or tomorrow, or next week. For now, how about we get started on breakfast? Food make everything seem better, even grief."

They reached the kitchen, and Wanda reached to pull open the door. "I don't really know how to cook."

"Neither did I," Nat said. "When I came here. Fortunately Clint has a cast iron stomach and ate all my mistakes. And eventually I grew to love it."

"Will you teach me?"

"Of course. What would you like to start with? Hopefully that involves eggs."

"Eggs. Fried eggs would be a good start."

And so they practiced frying eggs. Nat showed her how to watch the white's change color and harden "Undercooked egg whites are not okay on a lot of levels." And the proper way to flip them without breaking the yolk. When she'd done two successfully, Nat cut some holes in bread and they fried eggs in them.

By the time the men staggered in, drawn by the smell of food and the laughter of women, they had the better part of a feast waiting. 

It wasn't much. But it was a start.

*

Thanksgiving at the Barton Farm was an event. After that first year they'd had everyone, people came in whatever configurations they could. It was Mikael's and Wanda's first experience with the holiday, not being American and all, so Nat went all out. Clint did his best to stay out of the way of chaos she and Wanda seemed to be making in the kitchen.

Steve arrived early, in the sort of mood that made Clint uneasy—but he did relax eventually, and got the rest of the house to speak a little more English. The Starks descended Wednesday afternoon, two kids and Vision in tow. Mikael delighted in taking Junior out to meet the goats and newest chickens. Pepper joined the kitchen crew, and for a bit the littlest Stark—a tiny, red-haired little girl they'd nicknamed Ginger—ran around underfoot in the living room. Then Wanda showed Vision how to craft his cape into some sort of makeshift baby carrier like mothers used commonly in Sokovia, and Ginger rode happily on the android's back for most of the day before dinner. When she fussed, Wanda would concoct some sort of sparkly light show that would float over Vision's shoulder and entertain the toddler.

Clint couldn't believe how far Wanda had come.

After half a week of prep you'd think there'd be no more to do on Thursday, but Nat was up with the sun, making an elaborate breakfast that would hold them all until supper was ready. Clint escaped to the orchard for a while, just for some silence and privacy. To his surprise, Wanda found him soon after. "I've been thrown out of the kitchen."

He smiled at her. "Nat and Pepper are probably enough for five kitchens."

"They said they wanted it to be a surprise. The final meal." She shoved her hands in her pockets. "I will miss this place, when I go back with Steve."

"You're definitely going, then?" Clint wasn't surprised. It might even be good for her. She had a lot of things she felt like she needed to atone for. To make right. But he would miss her.

"I want to try. I like the others, Steve and Sam. Vision. And they said there will be others, new recruits, more my age." She looked at him. "Will you do me a favor?"

"Anything," he said, meaning it.

"Try to stop feeling guilty. Pietro may not have intended his sacrifice, but he did not regret it, even in his last moment. We chose to fight and we both knew what risks there were. And I bear you no blame. You have more than paid me back by letting me stay here. For helping me heal."

He ducked his head. "I suppose you know that sort of thing is easier said than done. Letting go."

"I did say try." She smiled crookedly. "I would like to come back and visit, if it's all right."

Clint reached to touch her arm. "You are always welcome here. To visit or consider this home."

As if she'd been waiting for him to make the first move, she stepped closer and hugged him, surprisingly strong. "Thank you."

"Be safe," he told her.

"Thank you. For everything."

He kissed the top of her head. "I told you you were an Avenger."

They walked the rest of the orchard in silence. It was getting dim as they headed back to the house and Wanda held out her hands, making them glow red to light their way. She gave Clint an almost childlike grin when she did it, so proud of herself.

"Your control has really improved," he told her. As it turned out, operating telekinesis required the same sort of precise control that a sniper needed to keep his body still. Clint had been able to teach her quite a bit about that.

"Yes, I think I'm looking forward to using it in the field." She wiggled her fingers and the light danced. "Steve was already talking about practical applications."

"Steve's a good commander. You should be in good hands. Unless he's feeling self-sacrificing, in which case you do not need to follow him in going out in a blaze of glory." He glanced at her. "Nat and I were getting off that rock if I had to hog-tie the Hulk and ride him down like a surfboard." 

She laughed a little, then sobered. "He has a great deal of darkness in him. Not evil, but. . . grief and guilt and disappointment. He's lonely, even in the middle of his friends. And he worries there will never be a place for him in this world, this time. Stark - and Ultron - claimed he was a soldier in search of a war. But I think it's peace that he's really looking for." The house was in sight and they could see the group moving around, setting the table. "He envies you and Natasha."

Clint sighed, part of him still amazed he had a life anyone found envious. "It was hard fought and hard won, what we have here."

"There is hope for everyone," Wanda said, leaning on his arm briefly. "The new team will be good for him. Give him purpose for a while."

"And I expect you'll keep an eye on him?"

"Of course." She smiled at him. "It's my job."

"Think we're allowed to go back in yet?"

"I hope so. I'm hungry."

Inside, the house smelled delicious, various dishes being carried out from the kitchen as they walked in. "Hey," Nat said when she saw him. "So apparently we took the carving knife to Sokovia."

Clint chuckled and shook his head. "Then I will carve it with my hunting knife like redneck I've become."

"I will dig down deep and find that sexy," she replied, kissing him gently. 

"I can use—" Tony started.

"No." Pepper cut him off, putting a basket of bread on the table.

"But—"

"No but. We talked about this. You are not putting the suit on at dinner." She fixed him a look. "And you should consider having a conversation later with Clint and Nat about what the word 'retired' means."

Nat looked from one to the other. "Did he bring a suit with him?"

Pepper rolled her eyes. "Of course he did."

"We were going overseas!" came the protest. "With the kids and no bodyguard!"

"Except your flying, beam-shooting, magic-stone-wearing, matter-manipulating, indestructible vibranium friend."

From somewhere in the living room, a little voice called out, "Daddy bad."

Some things _never_ changed.

Dinner was spectacular. Nat absolutely outdid herself. Good food and wine and family. It was just the sort of life Clint had always longed for somewhere in the back of his heart, but had never thought would actually be possible.

Saturday afternoon, they all boarded Stark's plane, which he'd inexplicably managed to land at the tiny local airstrip. He and Nat and Mikael went to see them off.

Wanda crouched to hug Mikael, murmuring to him in their native tongue. Clint left them to their moment and walked over to Nat and Steve in time to hear her say ". . . dating someone or I will come over there and wing woman for you myself."

He touched her back. "Are you yenta-ing?"

"He _needs_ it," she retorted. "And send me some drawings sometime," she added to Steve. "My walls are bare."

Steve nodded at Clint. "This guy really going to let you hang things on that plaster?"

"They make hooks that don't leave holes."

"I will allow her to hang you artwork," Clint said. 

She gave him a brilliant smile and went up on her toes to kiss Steve's cheek. "Be careful," she told him. "Be happy."

"Take good care of that kid," Steve replied.

"We will. Schoolyard bullies won't know what hit 'em."

Wanda came over, and hugged them both fiercely. "You know I can't ever express how grateful I am. And how much I'll miss you both."

"You are always welcome back," Nat told her sincerely and Clint nodded. "This is your home. And we're your weird aunt and uncle who raise bees and goats."

"I'll be back soon, I promise."

Mikael came running over, colliding with Wanda for another hug. Then he turned and wrapped his arms around Nat, pressing his face into her stomach. She squeezed him, rubbing his back as Wanda and Steve followed the Starks onto the plane.

 They stood there, the three of them, waving as the plane took off, leaving them alone, just their little family. "Can we go home?" Mikael asked.

"Yes." Nat kept an arm around his shoulders as they headed back to the farm house.

They settled into a new routine then. Just the three of them, quiet and peaceful. Clint and Mikael finished their latest building project, a memorial for Mikael's family under an old tree with a beautiful view of the orchards. He insisted on also including small ones for Clint and Nat's families. It made Nat cry when they showed her.

Christmas with a child in the house was an entirely new experience. Nat spent a week making cookies that she and Mikael then brought around to their neighbors as presents. He knew the truth about Santa, which was sort of a relief. Clint got him his own tool belt and a new set of tools. Nat got him art supplies and building sets and a remote control car that claimed it could off road. She'd also, somehow, found a new stuffed wolf to guard his bed that was an almost perfect match to the one that had been lost in Sokovia.

Mikael fell asleep under the tree and Clint carried him to bed, the wolf clutched under one skinny arm. Bubbles still slept in his room, as he had done every night since that first. 

A little boy and his dog.

Nat was on the couch when he got downstairs. She was looking up at the bear head over the mantle. Boris had been festooned with a Santa hat and scarf at Mikael's insistence. 

She held out a mug of what turned out to be hot cider when he sat with her. They sat in silence a moment, sipping their drinks. Then she said softly, "It never occurred to me that raising my own child would heal the wounds of my childhood."

Clint smiled. "Someday he may actually call me Dad, and I think I'll have a panic attack."

She laughed. "He's a good boy. I'm sure he'll understand."

"He is a good boy. Probably better than we deserve. You know it was entirely his idea, expanding the memorial."

"He has a good heart," she said. "If we don't screw him up to much then I think he'll be amazing."

"I have faith in us," he told her, reaching an arm out for her.

Scooting over, she cuddled against his side, resting her head on his shoulder. "Merry Christmas, Clint."

He pressed a kiss into her hair. "Merry Christmas, Tasha."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be posting a short Epilogue on Friday and that will be the end of this story.


	5. Epilogue

_March_

Clint had left ridiculously early for the airport. Nat had teased him about being eager to meet his latest stray. Mikael was at school, much to his dismay. He'd wanted to stay home to meet his "new sister" as soon as possible. Nat had tried to explain that this one was not going to be permanent and probably had her own, perfectly nice, family. But Mikael was pretty sure whoever came here was part of the family and Nat really didn't have any arguments to the contrary.

So she spent the morning baking cookies and fresh bread and waited to hear the truck pull up. 

Steve had called them, asking for help in training one of their new recruits. They weren't planning on being involved with any of the Avengers stuff, but this was an exception. "I desperately miss having silent shooting as a team capability," he’d told them. "The lack almost got someone killed recently." That someone, she later learned through gossip channels—Maria Hill called her—was Steve's girlfriend. She was so happy for him that she'd have taken in nearly anyone, as long as he brought them in person so she could poke him in the ribs and ask him embarrassing questions.

That the archer Steve was bringing them had been found because she'd been sitting in trees and vigilante-shooting muggers in Central Park was, to Nat, only a bonus.

The truck rolled up after the last batch of bread came out of the oven. She waited in the kitchen, listening to the front door open and close and the clomp of footsteps. "Honey, we're home," Clint called.

She shook her head and came out of the kitchen to meet him, Steve, and a pretty brunette girl, looking around like they'd brought her to heaven. 

Nat grinned and held out a hand. "Welcome to Italy. You must be Kate."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the end of the series, at least as far as Clint and Nat are concerned.
> 
> I'll be posting a Steve story called _The Best By Far is You_ set in this universe starting this weekend.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
